long live the king

6/29/2009

June 29, 2009been tweeting far more than blogging this past week, and even that has been spare given my utter speechlessness at Michael Jackson's death. When my coworker came into the room on Thursday and asked if I'd heard, I sat in denial for a few hours until CNN picked up the TMZ report, and then still maintained a hopeful optimism that everybody was wrong and somebody would get fired for lying on national television.

I'm still tryna incorporate his death into my new reality. Remember singing "Heal the World" at my sixth grade talent show, the mic dead and having to belt it out; listening to "Scream" on repeat (it was my anthem in eleventh grade) and watching the video over and over again; and seeing fans on TV fainting clear away at his concerts in Europe. When "Black or White" and "Remember the Time" came on network TV I sat about six inches away from the screen awestruck, the images of Magic Johnson, Eddie Murphy and Iman dressed like gods and goddesses were seared into my mind. They were some of the only music videos I ever saw growing up since we didn't have cable.

I can't really put my finger on how Michael Jackson's music affected me apart from saying it was somewhat ubiquitous; I never lived in a world without him and it made me so hopeful. Allowed me to dream about the possibilities. We are the World was one of those experiences that impressed upon me the power of using fame for social good. And I've always looked up to people who, despite their flaws, could win in the court of public opinion. It's a rare achievement that few can boast of, the pressure of which most, not unlike MJ, cave under.

at the moment, I'm still reeling and don't really know how to mourn this loss. i found myself, leaving work on Friday, looking up at the Madison Square Gardens marquee splashed with images of MJ and crying. the sky was weird that night, the clouds shaped like teardrops flecked with blue and orange light, the last rays of the sun. i like to think that heaven was having too big a party, God just couldn't cry, or the sky would have opened up and rained on all of us.

days like today, when a part of your story dies, ur left standing there picking up the pieces. thing is i wasn't quite ready for the chris brown, ne-yo, (even an usher) world. it's like i'm being pushed out the nest and told childhood is dead, it's time to grow up. i realize that i, and my peers, are supposed to be the ones carrying the torch for our generation. but i must apologize for feeling shitfaced, like i haven't got my shit together as an artist and am still waiting to see who really does. there are flashes of hope, but real creative genius is oh so hard to come by.

for all his issues, mj was truly great. and i'm choosing that he'll never die for me cause i'm just not ready yet.